The Painted World
by Kataoi
Summary: An art school with too much space, a case of disappearing students, and the wandering trio that ended up entangled in paint and prison. The Doctor, Amy, and Rory dodge the suspicions of students and faculty to discover who and what is behind it all.
1. Burning and Learning

With its usual wheeze and grunt, the TARDIS slowly materialized into being on a cold cement slab, tucking itself into a corner against a brown-grey brick building. There was a moment's stillness before the doors of the blue box swung open, a tall and lanky young man bursting out with a confirmative leap.

He inhaled deeply, analyzing the air before wrinkling his nose. "Burning," he mumbled, swinging his head wildly to the left and to the right, attempting to gain his bearings. "Burning…what?"

It was at this point that another person emerged from the TARDIS, standing nearly as tall as the lanky one, though this one distinctly female. She took one look around before quirking her eyebrows. At the instant she opened her mouth to speak, the lanky man took the time to speak instead.

"We're at a very average place on a very average day, Misses Pond," he said to her, turning on his heel and twirling his wrist in a mock-grandeur gesture. "How familiar you are with the United States of America I am uncertain, but we are in the Midwest, outside the city of Chicago to be precise – third largest in the country, though it tends to be glossed over between New York and Los Angeles."

A third person popped his head out from the blue box, seemingly hesitant to emerge but soon taking his place next to the woman. "Chicago?" he asked, looking at the sky and noticing a distinct lack of anything to suggest a city.

"97 kilometers away in that –" he pointed behind him "- direction. Though this is the US, what would they say…oh…Imperial system…about…sixty miles or so?"

"So…not Chicago," the other man deadpanned, sounding a touch disappointed.

"So – Doctor," the woman cut in, elbowing the man in the side, "Why are we here?"

The Doctor grinned, spinning on his heel again. "Well, there _was_ a lovely little place I wanted to go to that I haven't been in ages, the most excellent" (his voice suddenly took on a deep Texan drawl) "hearty American breakfast you'd find anywhere." He winked at the annoyed and distraught looks he received. "Buuuut – burning smells!"

And with that, he bounded down the steps in front of him and rounded a corner of the building.

"Wait – Doctor, get back here!" The woman groaned and ran after him, leaving the remaining man with his arm outstretched.

"Amy!" he called before sighing, hopping on his feet a few times before chasing after the two. But as soon as he himself rounded the corner, he was left with a question: Did he go to the left and towards the street, or to the right and into the building?

A quick glance earned him the reward of seeing the tail end of Amy's red scarf fluttering down the hallway of the building. His shoulders slumped but they quickly perked to attention as he himself wrenched open the door glass door – then another – before galloping after them.

The chase came to a screeching halt when he rounded another corner and smacked straight-on into Amy. She stumbled forward but kept her ground, instead turning around and smacking his arm lightly. "Rory!" she snapped, annoyed. He gave her an apologetic but 'it's-not-my-fault' glance when he noticed just why she herself had to stop.

The trio had run into a gaggle of parents and disinterested students, who were currently listening to a stout middle-aged man with spiked white hair and a mustache lecture about ceramics. Amy eyed the Doctor, who had raised his eyebrows and puckered his lips as his gaze wandered the small hallway.

"Hey," whispered one of the students, looking up at the Doctor and giving a nudge when he didn't immediately respond. "You guys here for the open house?"

"The wot?" The Doctor looked down at her after he spoke the words, drawing his eyebrows together. He gave her a once over before being hit by an idea. "Why – yes! Yes of course." He paused. "Are you on the tour? What's it about?"

"Huh?" She jerked her head back. "It's for the school of art, for the _open house_. You sure you want to be here? You don't want to be at the business school?" She said the last two words with a touch of sarcasm.

"The burning – what's burning?" he asked, glossing over her questions. Her eyes narrowed a touch, more from irritation than from being offended.

"Kiln. Cooks clay. Stuff burns in it to make fire to which you produce heat to cook things. Sir, are you sure you want to be here?"

"Huh? I mean – yes. Yes, of course I want to be here – we, _we_ want to be here." The Doctor then tilted his head, leaning forward an inch. "Why? Don't _you_ want to be here?"

"It's kinda my job."

"Your what?"

"Hang on." She turned to look at the group, craning her neck to give her shortened height a bit of an advantage and catching the eye of young man at the front. After a series of gestures, she gave a thumbs up and departed from the back, beckoning the Doctor to follow her.

"Sorry, I just didn't want to interrupt the group – uh – my job. I work here in the art department, as a student. Advising. I do open houses and orientations and the like. If you want any information on our programs, I'd be happy to tell you abou –"

Those words sparked a light in the Doctor's mind, causing his confusion to swap with a grin. A quick glance at Amy and Rory – who were more intrigued by the posters and sculptures adorning the hall – and he had a plan.

"You can indeed, young lady." The Doctor jutted out his hand, which she stared at. "I'm the Doctor, and I'm a scout for schools overseas looking for placement of students wishing to study aboard." With his other hand, he reached into his jacket and whipped out the psychic paper, which he flashed slow enough for her to read but not comprehend.

"We've got the British interested?"

He paused for a brief instant, momentarily forgetting that Earthlings thought he spoke with a particular accent. "Is this a surprise?"

"Kinda." She finally shook his hand. "My name's Ginger, by the way."

The Doctor smiled broadly, holding in a laugh. "Ginger?"

"Yeap."

"But you're not _a_ ginger." He bobbed at her hair, which was a close match in hue to his own.

"I get that a lot," she replied flatly.

"Well, _Ginger_," the Doctor said, still hiding a giggle and drawing far too much amusement from the situation, "I would think a tour of this building would be more than appropriate, don't you agree?"

"Uh, well – you came in at the last tour."

He blinked, still smiling. "Last tour? _Last tour_? Young lady –"

"Ginger."

"- Miss Ginger (he_heeeeeh _you're not a ginger), is that any way to promote and spread knowledge and skill?" The Doctor then remembered what he had told her he was. "I mean, this is not exactly the ideal way to present your school to a potential interested party."

The way she looked at him would have made him chuckle if he wasn't trying to impress. There, clearly in her eyes, was annoyance at his commands. Her expression was so _obviously_ telling of her frustration: eyebrows pulled tight, one slightly raised, her head titled low and staring up at him. Yet she didn't speak a word, as much as it hurt her not to, because it was her _job_ to put up with him. "I can let you talk to Blaine or Erin or Jacqueline," she said at last. "They're actual advisers and do personal one-on-one tours for people wishing to explore the school." Another pause. Her mouth opened but then shut, and she turned around to face a set of twin doors, one of which she wrenched open. "Follow me, if you please."

The Doctor beamed, doing a single rock backwards on his feet before calling over his shoulder. "Come along, Ponds!"


	2. Redheads and Gingers

"_Doctor_," Amy hissed as they clambered up the steep steps in the stairwell, "_What_ did you sign us up for this time?"

"Oh, Pond, where's your thirst for knowledge?" the Doctor replied, forgetting his indoor voice, as per the usual. "What's the harm in learning about this place?"

She raised an eyebrow as they swung around the banister and up another flight. "Because we don't do this kind of thing unless there's something going on?"

That's when the Doctor held up his index finger and tutted, a sly hint of a smirk coming on his face. He didn't even have to speak a word, because that's when Rory stopped dead in his tracks, four steps from the landing.

"…Oh, you're _joking_," he said, which is what got Amy to stop – but just to turn and look down at him. She had guessed it the same time he had, but felt it was better to keep pace with the Doctor than to stop, since he sure never ceased moving.

The Doctor shrugged and tapped his raised finger to his lips, darting his eyes back and forth between his companions and their tour guide, who was leaning on another door that led to an identical hallway from the one they had come from. She appeared impatient, but also masked it well, her expression neutral but her feet and fingers tapping.

Swinging back around, the Doctor donned another grin, clapping his hands once as he took over the duty of holding the door open from Ginger. She hesitated, looking beyond him to check on Amy and Rory, before releasing a whistle of a sigh through her nose and entering the hall.

"This is the second floor of the art building," she said, her tone a bit more automatic but still with a slight flair that suggested some original enthusiasm. "It houses our art education department, along with the classrooms for the beginning drawing classes. There's also the most important room on this floor, the main office, room 216. You go there for advising and general information." Then, a thought hit her. "Oh, sorry, forgot to ask – uh, what programs were you folks interested in?"

Rory was only now entering from the stairwell, though the three's arrival had been entirely delayed by a quick conversation they held. Ginger sighed and looked out a quad of doors that led to a set of stairs outside, rubbing her temples in the process.

"They keep coming, they keep coming…_how_ do they find me…?"

"Sorry! You were saying?" The Doctor interrupted her mumbling with an enthusiastic smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in delight.

"Programs you were interested in."

"Oh. Well uh – all of them." He glanced to the right and straight ahead, the two directions he was given to go in the building. "I mean – recruiter, after all. I'd like a sample of all your school's offerings."

"So…_they're_ not students?" She gave a vague gesture to indicate Amy and Rory, who were again far more interested in the drawings and posters hung up.

"What?" The Doctor swung his head to look at them before bringing it right back. "Oh – well – yes. Yes and no. She is." He leaned back and grabbed her arm – barely. Had she been an inch further, he would've completely toppled over. "Tell her, Amy."

"Tell her wha' – ut. Um. Hi."

"'sup."

Amy stared down at this girl – who honestly couldn't have been _that_ much younger than her, but by far shorter, and still couldn't help but feel intimidated. But wait, she was Amy Pond, over-thrower of such tyrannical governments as that on the Starship UK! Had walked through a forest of Weeping Angels – blind! Diffused an alien bomb – _through words! _There was nothing she couldn't accomplish by this point, and certainly could not be thrown off by the blank stare of this student tour guide.

"…What kind of programs do you offer?" Amy said at last on one breath, feeling herself deflate after the words.

"Oh, lots. It's more a matter of finding one for your skills and interests. We have three main sections; 2D, 3D, and design, and each of tho –"

"Heeeeey, Ginger." The intruding voice caused her to jerk her head to look over her shoulder. A middle aged man, his orange hair streaked with small bits of grey, came striding down the hall, his voice relaxed and somewhat quiet. He smiled pleasantly at the girl before looking up at the Doctor and Amy. "Final questions?" he asked, the answer open to either party.

"Well no, this guy's –"

"Hello, I'm the Doctor," the man with the corresponding name jutted in, his hand already snapping the psychic paper out. "Scout for universities abroad, tell me, your school, this building – how many stories?"

The (literal) ginger seemed hardly fazed by the speed, nor the question. "Four, didn't you already –"

"They came in downstairs at the end of the tour," the (actual) Ginger murmured. "Doc' here wants his own so I figured I could bring them to you."

"Ah, dumping your problems on me."

"Yeah, glad you take them."

"Four?" The Doctor intervened. He looked at Amy and then back at Rory, who was suddenly interested in the topic at hand now that it involved talking to someone who looked like a responsible adult and not teenager who couldn't correspond her name with her hair. "I like that number, four's a good number. The four humors, the four noble truths, the four elements –"

"- Theee four horsemen of the apocalypse, the four sights, 'four is death'," Rory deadpanned. The Doctor shot him a frustrated 'do-you-have-to-do-that' glare.

"…Yeah. Four."

"I see. And could you tell me, misterrr…"

"Just call me Blaine," the man said with a pleasant smile, reaching his hand out. The Doctor took the invitation and shook it, holding on for maybe a second too long. His smile, however, seemed genuinely enthused at the situation.

"Alright then, Mister Blaine."

"…Just Blaine."

"Okay then Blaine, I've another question – tell me, what is on each floor?"

Ginger raised her hand, to which Blaine gave her a pompous flourish and sidestepped to let her speak. "First flour is ceramics, sculpture, and art history, so our auditoriums are down there. This floor, second floor, is what I already told you – uh, art education and drawing foundations." She added that part after the look she received from her superior. "Third floor is photography, time arts, visual communications, and illustration, and the fourth floor houses drawing, painting, printmaking, metal working, and fibers."

The Doctor nodded at each listing, Amy went a bit bug eyed, while Rory seemed taken aback that someone could speak as rapid-fire as the Doctor could on topics that were rather foreign to him. "Alright then – would you mind if I spoke to…my advisors." He paused. "In private?" Another pause. "Just…over here."

Pivoting on his heel, the Time Lord swung one arm over Amy's shoulder, who in turn grabbed Rory's hand and dragged him towards the stairwell doors, but veered slightly to the right and found themselves facing a small glass case with a poster for a visiting artist that had visited well over a month ago.

"Do you notice something…odd about this place?" the Doctor inquired of his companions, finally remembering his whispering voice and doing so.

"What, besides the fact that the guy looks like a beardless VanGogh?" Amy asked, peeping over to look at the man.

"Focus, Amy," the Doctor muttered, gently twisting the top of her head back to face inwards. "No, it's just…something's wrong here. Can't you feel it?"

"I _feel_ something," Rory muttered, noticing his toes currently crushed by Amy's shoe. "And that girl is kind of creepy."

"Well, she won't be a murderous stepchild," Amy offered matter-of-factly. "Not a redhead."

"Got the name."

"Name's nothing without the matchin' hair."

"Will you _focus_?" the Doctor grumbled, stomping his foot as harshly as he could without it being too loud, meaning it sounded rather gentle and pathetic. "Not on the _guides_, but on the _building_ – there's something wrong here, I sensed it right when I walked in. I've given you enough hints, can you feel it _now_?"

Amy looked up, suddenly intent on studying the fluorescent tubing of the lights. Rory looked down, as if the dirtied white tile flooring with brown specks was then _the_ most fascinating underfooting he had ever seen.

"It feels…" he started.

"Like…the TARDIS," she finished.

"Ex_actly_." The Doctor looked around them uneasily. "These halls – all these halls are the same length, meaning the building is a square, and you see how much we've seen, times that by eight, that's how much space there is supposed to be. Except…"

"Except…?" Amy pried, knowing that unless she provoked him, the Doctor would forever leave them hanging.

"Except there is more space here than there should be, there is more space here than we're seeing, than we _physically_ know exists."

"And that means?" It was Rory's job to ask the question that would lead to the Doctor clarifying his words into laymen's terms. Hesometimes imagined what it would be like for the Doctor be on his own, out in the wild, frolicking with other Doctors, a whole flock of them rambling to each other in words only they understood, praising their bowties and fezzes. Then he stopped thinking about it, because the image of more than one Doctor was more than a bit disturbing.

Rory just squeezed Amy's hand tighter.

"What that _means_, Mister Pond, is someone has opened up more space, more rooms in here. And you know what else?" He waited only a beat before continuing, "It wasn't a very nice someone."


	3. Exchanges and Promises

Beaming pleasantries abound as the Doctor strode side-by-side with their tour guide, the "official" one who had dismissed the student one before they left the second floor. They were finishing up rounds on the third, Amy and Rory trudging behind as they feigned interest to keep up the act but continuously had their attentions robbed by the display boards and cases, showing off everything from intricate paper models to photographic mash-ups.

"And so that's our design floor – if we head on up, one more flight, we'll be on the main studio floor. Housing –"

"Yes yes, housing all those good things." The Doctor was beginning to feel another of his 'is-this-how-time-really-passes' moments. Experiencing slow events in the proper order just wasn't his way of doing things. What _was it_ with these artists?

Must be a VanGogh thing…

Blaine probably should've been offended, or at least annoyed, but he just chuckled, holding the door open for his guests and giving a smile to Amy. Rory was right behind her, casting a sideways glance at the man, his jaw jutting out slightly to mark irritation over the intrusion of his territory.

"So as you heard, the fourth floor is home to most of our 2D studio offerings, along with metalworking and fibers." He then looked towards Amy. "You said you were interested in fibers?"

She tried her best not to jump, but it couldn't be helped. "Oh uh – yes, that's right. I'm…" The Doctor stared at her from behind Blaine, his eyebrows rising higher to tell her to hurry up and not sound so bloody suspicious. Amy wrinkled her nose before turning to Blaine and jerking a nod. "I'm interested in your fibers program, that is, what it is and what it has to offer."

The look she shot the Doctor made even him take a step back.

"Well, it's certainly a unique program," Blaine started, taking one of two directions available to him – straight. "We have two studios here, if you'd like to explore them and – oh hey, look at that." He had peered into an open door, apparently surprised to find people inside. "Professor Lofaso! I have an interested student."

The Doctor saw this as his chance, quickly pulling Amy and Rory around him. "Okay – stall for me. Look interested, look _very_ interested, think of anything you can to give me time."

"Wha' – what are you going to be doing?" Rory whispered hotly, suddenly annoyed at the idea of the Doctor running off and not having to hear about things he didn't really understand.

"I'm going to be _investigatin'_, that's what. People are good at talking about themselves or about machines or about – oh, well, just about anything, just give me time!"

They broke when the Doctor spun them by the shoulder and gave each a shove towards Blaine, who was peering out from the door he had entered. "Not coming, Doctor?"

"Oh, no, this part of the trip is especially for Amy!" the Time Lord replied with a grin. "It's best I'm not there to influence her decision, don't want to _accidentally_ set her off on the wrong path. Besides, I'd like to take a gander at the work your students produce, do you mind?"

"No, of course not." Blaine nodded his head, his mouth half-open in a would-be grin. "Take your time."

"Thank you, much appreciated!"

The Doctor bounded down the right-option of the hallway, indeed taking the time to quietly marvel at what was hung up in the weathered and worn display cases. They were prints of sorts – _real_ prints, the ones made with a press, the ones that took more skill than operating a mouse. Though the subject matter and size varied, they showed the rough workings of skill, and the sign that accompanied them confirmed they were indeed by an introductory class.

But no time for that. The Doctor sniffed the air, lapping his tongue in his mouth at what he got in return. There was an odd smell, the kind of smell you tasted but somehow became mixed up and ended as a smell, and it was like old and weak coffee. There was another, this one thankfully not a taste, and being metallic. Another whiff – some vague peanut butter aroma, though heavily mixed with…dirt?

The kicker was, nothing was _off_ about the scents. They were unusual, but only by normal-person standards, and his standards were far beyond those. Rather, there was nothing _alien_ about the smells, nor the sights or sounds. It was all fairly standard as far as Earth went.

So what was that feeling?

The Doctor reached in his coat pocket and whipped out his ever-trusty sonic screwdriver. Tossing it a few times in his hand, he pressed the button well-worn under his thumb, doing a quick radial sweep from where he stood before flicking it out and glancing over the readings he received.

If he hadn't believed it yet, now was as good a time as ever to trust in his gut. The sonic blared back the obvious, that there was some sort of psychic field open, and it was nearby – so, _so_ nearby.

But not behind him, that much he could tell.

"Wow_ee_, look at that."

Usually, hearing a voice didn't bother the Doctor, but in this case, when he was trying to be somewhat covert, he took exception. He glanced to his right, seeing a young man with a blue bandana on his head, covering shaggy blonde hair, and donning leather overalls with a green t-shirt.

"What, this?" The Doctor held up his sonic before noticing it still had its prongs sticking out, to which he snapped shut.

"Woah, opens and closes like that?' The overalls-man looked genuinely impressed, a sort of childlike grin coming to his face. "That's major skill, buddy." He paused. "Jamie Obermeier, by the way." He extended his hand to shake, which the Doctor was coming to accept as fairly standard around this place. "Metals professor."

"Ah, lovely. I'm the Doctor, scouter for universities abroad – tell me, Mister Obermeier –"

"Jamie's cool."

"Alright then, listen, Jamie, good sir, I have a question, one very simple question, and once you've answered it, you're free to go – well, I suppose you're free to go right now if were to so please, but that would be rather rude and you don't strike me as a rude kind of fellow – so, yes, please, if you would –"

"Yes?"

The Doctor turned his face halfway, tilting his head and putting on a crooked smile. "Do you think there's something odd about this place?"

Right away. Right away, the look in Jamie's eyes changed, going from that of an easy going young man to one wrought with troubles. No – not trouble_s_. Trouble. Just one. Sure, there were others, but they weren't the same. They were the problems that were normal, that could be dealt with in everyday life. This…wasn't.

"…I tell ya what," Jamie said, cutting clear through the disturbed look that had glazed over his eyes. "Let me see that piece you have, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, moving his hand to his inner pocket, but not withdrawing the sonic – not yet. "Oh? So that means there _are_ secrets to be revealed?"

"Secrets?" Now he mimicked the Doctor's head-turn-and-tilt. "Ain't no_ secrets_ around here, Doc."

"...Doctor," he flatlined.

"Whatever ya say. But like I said – no secrets. Just the obvious, and the obvious is what's odd. I'll tell you whatever, if you'd let me look at –"

"Why does seeing my – my uhhh – why do you need to see it?"

"Oh." Jamie laughed. "I don't _need_ to see it, sorry for throwing you on that one, Doc. …tor. Just – that thing's a beauty, triumph of small-scale sculpture. It's my field."

"I see. So – you'll trade an investigation for another?"

"Sure, if that's how you want to phrase it."

The Doctor reluctantly reached his hand in his jacket, hesitating to fork over the sonic. Once he did, Jamie became as soft as butter, completely taken by the device. His fingers carefully glossed over the bronze, rubbed softly on the leather, and thumbed the green glass sphere protruding at the tip. He tapped the metal prongs lightly with his thumbnail, completely taken by the craftsmanship of the object in his hands.

Who knew the TARDIS was such an artist.

"This is amazing stuff, Doc. Gotta hand it ta ya." Jamie held it out in front of him, satisfied at the weight it bore in his hand, before agreeably handing it back to the Time Lord.

"Okay then, I did my end of this – so now, you." The Doctor knew he spoke the words, but they didn't register very far in his mind. He was rather happy to have his sonic back, safely tucked in its pocket. Separation issues? He didn't have separation issues. He just didn't like other people touching his things when he was clearly there and could see them doing it. Worse was knowing he had given them _permission_ to do so.

Jamie sighed. "Right, well – it's – we've been having…disappearances."

"Disappearances?"

"Yeah. Students come in here, in the art building, and then they just…vanish."

"I see. You think there's…"

"Well see, if it was just as simple as – okay, I know, abducting isn't simple, but you know what I mean, right? I'm not a horrible person, that's not what I mean it's just uh – if it was so simple it wouldn't be so odd, y'know?"

The Doctor nodded, though he really wished the young man would hurry up. …Oh no, is this what Amy and Rory felt like when he spoke? Whenever they asked him to clarify, did they really mean it, they just didn't do it to poke and irritate him? If such were true then…then he…well, then he would have to deal with it later. Now was not the time to have an existential crisis.

"After a day, the police can file a missing persons report but – it's always so…well, it's just, it's so exact, because right after those reports are filed, the kids just…show up."

"Where?"

"Here, fourth floor. Always here."

"Hmm…Anything off about them?"

Jamie shook his head. "Nothing that I've seen, I mean, one of my students was involved. Only thing I could tell was she tired, but it's nothing unusual."

"Mm? Why's that?"

"Wow, you obviously weren't an art major, huh?"

The Doctor let himself smirk.. "Ironic, i'n'it?

"It's just part of the territory," Jamie shrugged. "Pull lots of late nights, sometimes all-nighters, especially to get projects done. Stress is high at the end of the semesters in particular, what with finals and portfolio reviews. Seniors in their final semester?" He let out a whistle. "Whew, Doc, that's something you don't wanna see."

"Doctor."

"Right, sorry, did I say Doc again? Sorry. I mean, the only good thing is that the students here have a place to work twenty-four-seven – here. They don't have to be trashing up their dorms or their apartments."

"Wot, this building never closes? Never locks?"

"Yes and no. We have an open-studio policy – students can work here all night if they choose. The doors _do_ lock at night, but if they're in here, they won't be kicked out."

Suddenly, the Doctor grinned, and this one was the grin that spoke from the devious part of his brain, the part that was good at coming up with plans that involved a bit of lying and sneaking – not that he wasn't doing it already. "Jamie, you have been most helpful." He shook the young man's hand vigorously before swooping around on his heels, hands thrown in the air.

"Huh? What – I did something?"

"Indeed." Swinging back around but walking backwards, the Doctor said, "Trust me on this – there aren't going to be any more disappearances!"


	4. Stakeouts and TakeOut

"A stakeout? Really? Are you serious?"

The Doctor tugged at the sleeve of his tweed jacket, straightening it out after checking his watch. "Indeed. C'mon Pond, it's a classic set-up! An homage to film noir, even!"

Amy sighed, using a series of rolled up yellow papers in her hand to tap the back of her head. "But how do you even know it's going to _work_? Aren't we going to get _caught_ and kicked out?"

"No, because I have a brilliant plan!"

"_Please_ tell me you're involved in it," Rory pleaded. He was already flashing back to an hour previous, when he and Amy were listening to a woman that would certainly not look out of place surrounded by cats, Professor Lofaso. On and on she went on a program they had no genuine interest in, but whenever Rory felt himself nodding off, his eyes would wander and they'd always meet Blaine's.

His eyes were blue. Creepy blue. The kind of eyes that you didn't want to stare straight at, and doing so was trying on the soul. They were the kinds of eyes that always seemed to belong to superiors when Rory was giving them some ridiculous theory on why a patient was ill.

"Of course I'm involved," the Doctor snapped, breaking Rory's thought bubble. "I'm always involved!"

"Not with the part that involves buying _others_ time…" the nurse mumbled. Either the Doctor didn't hear or he chose to ignore him, since the next thing he did was look out the doors (the group being on the second floor again) and letting out a nondescript 'hmm'.

"So how are we even going to _do_ this stakeout thing?" Amy asked, flinging herself off the wall she had been leaning on. "This is a school building, it gets used, and then it gets emptied. We'll be thrown out – unless you were planning on hiding somewhere?" She paused. "Or…breaking and entering?"

"Huh? Did I not mention?"

The blank stares confirmed that notion.

"They don't kick students out," the Doctor answered to his own question. "They lock the doors from the outside at a certain time but people aren't forced out. And I'd like to avoid the 'breaking and entering' part. There are cameras at all the entrances, didn't you notice?"

"We went through _one_, how was I supposed to notice?"

"Oh, well – _I _noticed it."

Rory flatlined his eyes. "Good for you." He glanced around the niche they had settled themselves in, rather uncomfortable at every passer-by. Most were students, lugging large but flat mesh bags (portfolios), laptop cases, or backpacks. Occasionally, a professor or administrator would walk by, but it was either the way they had squared themselves off or their mere appearances that led to no one speaking to them. "In the _meantime_, what are we supposed to do?"

"Good question." The Doctor tapped his wrist. "We have multiple options, take the one that's most convenient for you."

"We could…snoop around? Do a bit more investigatin'?" Amy offered.

"We _ could_, but we don't want to seem suspicious."

"Aren't we already suspicious? What difference will it make?"

"Because." He let that word hang in the air for a bit too long, as Amy and Rory leaned forward slightly, eyebrows raised, though also a look that suggested they were preparing themselves for disappointment from the epic build-up. "When I talked to a professor upstairs, while you two were gallivanting with the fibers, I asked him if he thought anything was odd about this place, and the _way_ he answered me suggested that it's not something very well-known outside of here."

Rory hesitated before asking, "So that means…?"

"Well, for someone like me, a 'scout' to him, asking about something not supposed to be known raises eyebrows."

Amy was about to make a joke about the Time Lord's lack of them, but instead chose to pass by the opportunity. "Need to be quiet, then."

"Preferably. Well – not _too _quiet, quiet's boring." The Doctor began to bounce on his toes. "In fact, this is quite boring too." He encompassed his jaw in his hand, cradling his elbow with his other hand. "What can we do for seven hours…"

It was probably best not to let the Doctor ask and then complete the phrase "what can we do for x amount of time", because as it turns out, his answer was "the TARDIS!" What then proceeded to occur was a cross-your-fingers roulette for advancing ahead by seven hours, give or take a minute. Their first journey out the doors was about fifty years ahead, with the return trip sending them back seven hundred years too far.

After several more tries and mistakes, the Doctor masked his caution with a grin and poked his head out the doors, feeling a surge of pride at seeing mostly night with a faint glow of light from around a corner. He sniffed the air and nodded, again with caution, before he heard the confirmative tapping of Rory's finger on his cell phone.

"Finally got it right."

"Of course I did, I always get it right!" The Doctor tweaked his bowtie, smiling as if he had never done anything wrong - ever. "I sometimes choose to take the scenic route is all."

Amy rolled her eyes and had to grab Rory's hand and drag him out of the TARDIS in order to get him to budge. Once outside, she shivered, the air noticeably colder than it had been earlier that day.

"Ahh, an autumn night in northern Illinois…it is quite brisk." Spreading his arms out, the Doctor breathed in the chilled night air deeply, heaving it out with an almost heavenly sigh.

"Doctor," Amy said patiently, poking around his side to try and get his attention. "Not to distract from the…the breathing, but don't we have something we need to be doing?"

"Huh? Oh, right, quite right Pond." After an affirmative nod, the Doctor leapt into action, literally jumping into the air and going down the same path and through the same doors he had done hours previous. His companions followed in a similar fashion, and soon, they were staring at the set of elevator doors that stood next to the stairwell they had taken earlier.

"…Where is it?"

"It has to be coming. The light on the button is on. It's coming."

"But the number isn't lit up."

"Maybe it's broken."

Suddenly, the 1 on the panel lit up, accompanied by a _ding_ and the doors slowly shuffling open. Amy gave Rory a satisfied smirk before hopping inside, beckoning for the two males to follow by wiggling her fingers at them.

The elevator chugged slowly upwards, but stopped once it hit the second floor. The Doctor sighed, impatient, but almost started laughing when the doors opened and revealed who was waiting.

"…Why are you still here?" the familiar student tour guide asked, her voice distraught. In her arms were three brown paper bags, splotches of grease staining the sides. She entered without much hesitation, however, and glanced over at the button panel, seemingly satisfied at the 4 being lit up before the thought hit her.

The Doctor, in his typical way, managed to get in the first word of her open mouth. "How lovely to see you again, Miss Ginger. Is there class running this late?"

She closed her mouth and snorted before shaking her head. "Nah. Latest class goes is 8:40."

"So why are you here?" Amy couldn't help herself asking. Ginger shot her a look that certainly lacked any sort of masking from earlier.

"My friends and I are here to finish up some projects. We got hungry so we ordered Chinese, and no, I'm not giving you any."

Rory edged his eyes over to Amy, who returned the glance and mumble-mouthed something that seemed to state disbelief.

"We're not hungry anyway," the Doctor brushed off, smiling. That did nothing to remove the suspicious scowl from the girl's face, and the eye contact she kept up with him was nothing but remarkable when the doors opened and she walked out – backwards.

"I shouldn't say this," she said, raising her voice as she distanced herself, "But you're not where you should be." She stopped at a doorway opposite the fibers studio, shifting the weight of the paper bags in her arms. "And seriously, I'm probably gonna call the police unless you get out."

Once she had disappeared into the room, the Doctor led the way out of the elevator, Amy and Rory almost stuck by the doors closing on them. The two of them stared after where Ginger had gone, but the Doctor seemed to have gone past that, sonic screwdriver already whipped out and humming in the air.

"I didn't get the chance to precisely locate where this field is open," he answered to their unasked questions. "It's here, but not _here_." He then bolted forward, sonic held in front of him awkwardly, squinting at the readings as he criss-crossed the narrow halls, darting from door to door – studio to studio.

The married couple followed, Rory stopping deliberately at the door he had seen the non-correlated student tour guide duck into. There was a small room immediately inside the door that appeared to be some sort of storage space, but that gave way to a larger, warmly lit room. The walls were punctured a thousand times over with small marks, though judging by a few watercolor paintings hanging up, it was due to student work being mounted and marveled. (Well, to _him_, it would be pretty marvelous. Any art student in their right mind would call it the dreaded "critique".)

Rory quickly moved on when one of the room's occupants – some Asian girl with her hair in a ponytail – started to look up. He almost panicked when he noticed neither Amy or the Doctor straight ahead of him, but around the corner to another right, he was able to breath a little easier.

Then they turned into another door on the left, causing him to snap into action after them.

"Woah."

They had entered a massive room, ceilings stretched high, lined with numerous tracks of lights and slotted windows adorning the far side. Dozens of easels, massive in their height, were posed haphazardly around the room, accompanied by small metal carts of sorts. There was a clear path through the mess, though, and once the initial shock of seeing everything splattered in paint wore off, there was remarkably little to actually look at.

The Doctor, however, seemed far more interested in the space more than he had before. "This is it," he said, snapping the sonic shut and sliding it back into his coat pocket. "It's here, in this room…somewhere."

"…What are we looking for?" Amy had to ask, realizing specifics were not coming her way.

"Something. Anything." He turned to look at the two, a bit perplexed, but also very, very excited. (Typical.) "This field is being held within an object, but what that object _is_ I don't know." He paused, twisting his lips upward in thought. "Aaand you know what that means."

"Two words, two syllables?" Rory offered sarcastically.

"Split up," Amy won without much enthusiasm. The Doctor, however, was back to his beaming grin.

"Exactly! You two have learned so much, couldn't be prouder."

The room was somewhat split in the middle by a conglomerate of cabinets and platforms, though on either side were wide paths easily connecting the room. The Doctor took the far side through one path, Rory through another, whilst Amy stuck to the part they had entered through.

Rory's path led him to the back wall, which revealed small but clearly defined areas that students had set up to work in. They were three in total, made up by lines of the metal carts, with reference pictures and sketches taped to the walls. He raised an eyebrow at the first that he saw, which consisted of a screaming face splattered in blood. Spot number two was dedicated to an intricately detailed piece of a beetle or…something. He could only give that a guess based by the pictures and books that were lying around the area, some scientific in nature.

The third, however, was what caught his eye. It wasn't gory, it wasn't intricate, but it was…interesting. A canvas taller than him was off by itself in a specific corner, surrounded by carts littered with paint tubes and jars of oddly-colored liquids. It seemed to be the beginnings of an intricate endeavor, with a few areas built up in the middle but rough gesture marks and blank white canvas taking up most of the sides.

But there was something _about_ it. It was like a story was instantly forming in his head the moment he looked at it. There was something about the serene of the greens blending with the soft yellows, echoing in the enchanting blues that bled off into violets and desaturated to grey.

Then something. Something happened. Rory looked at his hand and noticed his fingertips stained in a smear of colors. That was odd. But it was odder to look up and see where he now was.

It wasn't the painting studio he was in. It wasn't even a physical place that he knew was real. Everything around him consisted of globs and chunks of the same color palette he had just seen on the canvas. Farther off, the colors began to fade before stopping completely, casting themselves into blazing white.

Rory whipped his head around, hoping to maybe see something, some sort of inkling of reality, that maybe there was – oh, dunno – a portal somewhere. Something.

Of course there was no such luck.


	5. Lost and Abandoned

Rory took a deep breath, which ended up being far more pleasant than he thought it would. The area smelled only lightly of oil paint, the remaining layers just a sort of…blank.

He took a step forward and delighted in the fact that he could move, almost thrilled that there was nothing clinging to his shoes. Slowly turning his head around, Rory was holding back all thoughts of sheer panic. Honestly, the reason he _wasn't _running in circles and screaming until his throat became sore was unclear even to him. If he wanted to lie, he could say it was because traveling around to other planets made him a battle-hardened warrior of sorts.

Then again, he had been taught lying was bad, and he wasn't going to dishonor his parents on that.

Rory took another cautious step forward, then two more, before deciding everything was in the clear as far as movement went. He kicked at the grass underfoot – the odd, blobby, somewhat undefined grass – and was relieved to see it skid and shake. Even if the things around him _looked_ odd, they at least didn't do weird things like nibble his laces.

But now that his bearings were in check, Rory did have to wonder: What was going to happen now?

* * *

The Doctor blinked. Rory had been standing there, right? He had been looking at a painting, standing right there, right in that spot, right where nothing stood now, and had been there. Hadn't moved. Then, one head-bob later, he was gone.

"Rory?" he asked quietly, thankful at the peace of the room but also cursing its deafening power when he received no response.

"Rory, you find something?" Amy's voice preceded her body as the words came before her head poked out from the center divide. "…Rory?"

The Doctor weaved his way nimbly through a path of carts and easels, not at all happy to see his suspicions confirmed. There was no Rory standing where he clearly should have been.

A few moments later and Amy joined him at his side, at first nonchalant by the empty space but steadily growing stunned when she noticed the Doctor's own rigid pose.

"…Where is he?" she asked, her voice low, though not completely pessimistic. The Doctor swallowed before giving a jerk of his head.

"Right, we need to think this through – Amy, do a quick lap of this floor, see if he wandered off or – or he teleported, or something."

She almost didn't move, but the proceeding frustrated hand gestures pretty much forced her out the door, toe stubbing on the foot of an easel in her path. She looked behind her shoulder to see the Doctor running his hands through his hair, frustratedidly staring at the painting before him.

There were two paths to take, the left and the right. The right had familiar territory. There was also something else it had – people. That was the path she took.

"Oi," Amy commanded, her voice quivering slightly at the strength she was faking. There were three girls in the room, currently poking at Styrofoam containers brimming with rice and fried chicken bits. There was the annoying (or annoyed) student tour guide, the Asian with the ponytail, and another with short hair and square glasses.

"What." It was a flat, annoyed, suspicious response, glazed somewhat with a questioning tone. The Asians shot a quick glance at their friend before looking at the redhead.

Amy flattened her brow. "You seen a man walk past here?"

"What does he look like?" The one with the glasses asked this, though quietly. Her voice was low, almost hollow, but had a genuine curiosity in it.

"You know, a guy, with a face, and hair…" Ginger snorted after her words before suddenly breaking out in a coughing fit. "Oh my God rice, agh –"

"True. He's about – yey tall –" She put her hand about an inch above her head, "- with brown hair…kinda blonde…large…" She drew her fingers in front of her nose, snapping them to a point, "and…"

"- Brown puffy vest, blue hoodie underneath. No, haven't seen him since you walked by."

Amy reversed her expression, but said nothing, just nodding in acknowledgement and heading off to paths she had not yet traversed.

The Doctor swerved his head to each and every side of the canvas, every possible angle he could get his vision to. He gave a careful sniff before wiping his finger against it and sticking it in his mouth.

The problem was he had swiped his finger over a smudge of yellow paint, still wet, and now in his mouth. The Time Lord made a face of disgust but also intrigue before he stuck his tongue out, jaw held wide open. He whiped his head around furiously before spotting a sink next to the door Amy had left out of. In an impressive show of athleticism, he leapt across stools and over carts before colliding into the sinks, wrenching the faucet on with an overpowering jerk and sticking his mouth under the torrenting water.

After gurgling and swishing water around for a solid minute, the Doctor swung his head out from the sink, catching sight of a paper towel dispenser and cranking out a foot of brown paper. He swabbed it around his mouth, fidgeting the whole way, before finally finding his maw rid of the intruding paint.

He swung around and slouched against the wall, sighing and sinking halfway. "Blimey," he muttered. "Okay, future reference, don't eat paint." He paused. "Can't believe I haven't done that before…"

Amy came trudging into the room at that point, overstepping where he was and having to do a quick scan of the space to find him. "Nothing." She paused, opening her mouth and musing on the sight before her. There were words that wanted to come out, but again, she chose not to.

"Alright." Stooping to his feet, the Doctor swung his arms into a clap. "Amy, I have come to the conclusion that the painting ate Rory."

"…The painting ate him."

"Yes."

"The painting. Ate Rory."

"Yes. But don't eat the paint."

"…I'm assuming you did that."

"Yes, and I choose not to elaborate on the circumstances nor the proceeding actions."

Amy sighed and shook her head. "Fine, so what are we going to do about the man-eating painting?"

"Oh…I'm not sure _we_ have to worry about it." The Doctor eyed the canvas, which was standing still on its own in its corner, serenely and peacefully. "Mister Pond, on the other hand…"

* * *

Rory plodded forward, since there was really no other way to go but to follow the path of paint laid out before him. He had tried to go towards the blankness of the canvas, and let's just saying tossing a twig at it had been a brilliant idea. The only _solid_ ground he had to walk on was the painted areas. Anything left blank was truly a void.

As he continued on his way, thoughts began to creep into his head. _"You're stuck here!"_ was primarily sticking out, though there was also a lot of _"Are you sure this is the way to go?"_ and _"Why did you touch the bloody painting in the first place?"_

The last one was a hard one to answer, whereas the other two were easy to throw angry and annoyed remarks at. Why _had_ he touched it? It was like he was possessed by the colors, by the marks, by the shapes that intertwined with one another. It was enchanting in its own way, though oddly so. The piece wasn't anywhere near completion, but he still felt drawn to it.

He liked paintings enough, but not on the level of Amy. Oh no. Of all the things that composed that woman, perhaps her love of art was the most confusing. It wasn't like it was _so_ strange, but it was kind of out of character. For an energetic and adventurous young twenty-something, staring at dusty old paintings just didn't seem like a typical hobby. He had mostly gotten into art _because_ of her, which wasn't a bad thing. It just meant that now, he was cursing his hypnotic trance with that painting.

Lost in his own argumental thoughts, Rory almost didn't see the limp body hidden behind a grouping of rocks. He saw a flash of realism, of something more tangible than paint, then had to whip his head around to make sure it was what he thought it was. There, lying nestled between the rocks and a shrub, was a man, crumpled and curled on his side. Rory let his medical instincts kick in, dodging low to check for a pulse – which he found within seconds. It was slow, but it was there, and the man's skin was warm, so there seemed to be nothing to be alarmed about.

Rory collapsed backward, propping himself up with his hands stretched behind him. He let out a whistle of air through his nose and counted his blessings at finding some other form of human life in this realm.

Soon after he sat, the man let out a groan, rolling over onto his back and sitting up. He was young – well, older than Rory, but not middle aged – and his bald head was clearly that way by choice. He squinted his eyes before looking around him, clearly not surprised to be surrounded by painted plants.

"Um – hullo," Rory greeted with as much non-intrusive courage as he could muster. The man found what he was looking for in this time (his glasses) and, after setting them into place, turned to look at him.

"Yo." He looked around and sighed. "So this is real, huh…"

"Depends on what you think is real, but yeah, I guess so." This earned Rory an unimpressed, if not grumpy, look. "Uhm – how did you end up here?"

"I should be asking you that." The man rolled his neck, resulting in two cracks on either side. "_I_ teach at the school the painting is at. You don't. You're a Brit."

"I could be a student," Rory snapped back, somehow offended by the words.

"Not in the middle of the semester and me not seeing you for all of it, dude." He gave a considerable pause before reaching his hand out. "Geoffrey Smith, by the way. Long as I'm stuck here you might as well know my name."

"Uh – yeah, thanks. Rory…" He had to think long and hard on that one. He brain flashed back to the day's events, and he blurted out the name he had been called the whole time (and honestly, the one he _continually_ kept being called), "Rory Pond."

Geoffrey raised a casual eyebrow but shrugged it off. "Whatever." He stood up and stretched his legs out before taking a step forward. But right after his foot hit the ground, the rest of his body did too.

Rory once again called to arms his nursing skills, though they weren't needed. Geoffrey was panting and swearing under his breath. He didn't seem to be _afraid_ of the situation, rather, annoyed, thought that seemed the mild form of the word.

"Dude, you're on your own," he managed to mutter out. "Sorry to bail on you like this when I've just met'cha."

"...What do you mean? On my own? How?"

"When that – that _thing_ comes." Geoffrey looked up at the nurse and shook his head. "The thing, you'll know it when you see it. When it comes around, you're probably going to end up like me." He paused. "Huh, and I'll probably end up like a corpse. All dead and stuff. Not cool."

Rory sighed and stared down at the grass as it quivered by some invisible wind. He ran his hand through it, his mind rather perplexed why the sight and the touch weren't matching up. Suddenly, the green blades under his hands began to drain of their color. Rory bolted back and tumbled when the greens and yellows were pulled up and out of the grass, solidifying in the air and looking very much like, well, globs of unused paint. Twisting and turning, they rose higher in the sky, before a sudden sweeping motion made them vanish.

"Oooh…it's back."

Rory turned to Geoffrey, horrified at the man's casual tone. "What's – what's back?"

"You know, that thing I was telling you about." He shrugged. "Told ya it would happen…"

There was a screech and then a laugh. Rory whipped his head in a frenzy to keep track of the noise, which seemed to resonate in the realm and give off how empty and incomplete it was.

"Thinkin' it might be a girl, actually," Geoffrey continued. "Voice and stuff, looks kinda feminine with the hips and all…"

Rory soon got to see what the man was referring to, as a shape soon materialized before turning into an actual figure. It was hard to tell the gender, though he did see what Geoffrey meant by "hips". If he had to give the figure a name, it would be a harpy. Wings came from its back, though they weren't feathered, more like sticks. Her (he just gave way to the "female" label) body was covered in short black fur, with longer strands forming her hair. A metallic crown wrapped around her forehead and framed her cheeks, which housed an overly-widened mouth that screeched once again upon opening.

Frozen to the spot, Rory could only stare and stammer. Geoffrey glanced over at him with bemused interest. "Yeah man, I can tell you don't belong here. Watch this – next part's my favorite."

Several rings of paint appeared around the harpy's body, swirling to her movements, twisting as she laughed. Her eyes, milky white without a pupil, were fixated straight on Rory. A smirk curled across her mouth as she raised an arm to the nonexistent sky.

"Barrel roll."

"Wha – wot?"

"Dude. Do a barrel roll."

He caught sight of the harpy flinging her arm, and Rory suddenly flung himself off in the opposite direction. The paint hit the ground and unexpectedly granted life back to the grass that it hit – albeit a bit haphazardly, putting purple alongside the green and yellow.

"Wow, that actually worked."

Rory stared at him. "Have you got any idea how to _get rid of her_?"

"If I knew that, I would've done it myself now, wouldn't I?"


	6. Swords and Studios

There was a scream, but whether it came from the harpy or from Rory was up for debate. He rolled again, looked up, dodged another attack, then proceeded to roll into a tree. Well, painted tree. Not real. But it felt real enough. Certainly hurt.

"Well that's new." Geoffrey's voice intruded Rory's survival mechanism, and he managed to sneak a peak upside-down at the harpy. She appeared irritated, though confused, shooting straight up into the sky but seemingly knowing the limits of the canvas and jerked to a halt.

There was another scream, this one clearly from the harpy, and it gave a hollow echo throughout the world. Rory scrambled to his feet but stumbled, and the next thing he knew, there was a furry, furious face coming at him.

All he could do was whip his arms in front of his face. He knew it wasn't going to do anything, but there wasn't anything he could do to turn off the need to protect his head.

But after too long of a wait, Rory peered in the space between his arms, confused why he didn't see anything but a pane of green. He slowly dragged his arms apart before, once again, that voice intruded.

"You've got something on your hand."

Rory quickly flashed his palms at himself, surprised to find the paint smears which he knew had been there but was still shocked fresh by them. It was mostly a collection of greens, though dabbled with yellow, and for a moment, he forgot how they got there.

Then he remembered. Right. It was why he was there in the first place.

Looking beyond the mark, Rory's eyes flashed wide before glancing at his hands and coming to a decision. He prayed it would work while simultaneously swiping his hands out in various motions, shaping them to what his mind was envisioning. Smears of green slowly built from scratches and into a solid shape, which stood flat in the air before him He grabbed it without thought, yanked it from its spot, and was never so relieved to feel the object go with him.

Rory, when he thought hard about it, vaguely had memories from his two-thousand year wait, of the life that never happened but did in his memories. The part about being plastic was very clear, but fights with anyone or anything in protecting the Pandorica weren't readily available in his mind.

His arms seemed a bit more in-tune with his non-existent memories, swinging the paint-sword with little hesitation as the harpy let out another scream. One more slash to the upper left and the harpy reeled back, green sludge smeared across her mouth and eye.

"That's a good one." Geoffrey had managed to prop himself up and was struggling to move, not willing to admit he wanted to assist. Rory instead darted over to the man, pivoting on his heel at the last minute to turn back and face the harpy. She was thrashing about, clawing at her face, desperate to get rid of the paint. The nurse twitched in his movement, his body lurching forward but his feet planted firmly on the ground.

The harpy swung her head up, gave a menacing glare for a brief moment, then thrashed her sticklike wings and fumbled into the canvas sky. Rory followed her trail before his limbs began to feel like gelatin and he wobbled to the ground, dropping the paint-sword and heaving out a haggard sigh.

"Wha'cha gonna do now?"

Rory let his heart decelerate before answering. "I dunno, find a way out of here?"

"Heh, good look with that one." Geoffrey swung his arms up to his head, tapping his fingers on his wrists. "You know the cycle, don't yew? Disappear for a day, come back at just the moment you're reported missing. I've only been gone for a few hours. Ain't gonna be missed yet."

Staring back at where he had ventured from, Rory stuck out his bottom lip in contemplation and his own desperation. He was going to get rescued, right? He wasn't going to have to wait the full day and pray the harpy thing didn't come back…right?

Geoffrey took note of his gaze. "You hopin' something comes from the distance?"

"Honestly? Yes."

"Who?"

Rory propped his head on his hand, cheek smushed. "A beautiful redhead and a gangly giraffe, preferably." He paused. "The first would make me happier, though the second would probably be more useful."

"Riiight. Uh…good luck with that."

Rolling his eyes, the nurse flopped onto his back, staring at the patchy canvas sky. "Thanks," he said on a huff. 

* * *

"RORYYYY!"

"Amy – calm down, that –"

"RORRRYYYYY!"

The Doctor grabbed her arms before she made a lunge for the painting. There were tears welling in her eyes, having gradually pooled there as the Time Lord had gone on to calmly explain what was possibly going on with Rory. And soon, that had resulted in her brashly making a leap towards the canvas.

"Let me _go_!" she grunted, trying her best to fight back and almost succeeding several times. "That's _my _husband in there, I have the right to do _whatever_ I want!"

"Amy, please, listen – listen! It's better for you to be here!" The Doctor managed to wrangle her away from the corner area before swinging around and blocking her from going back. "We can figure out something here! Two is better than one, I _need_ you Pond, I need you to be calm and help me so we can help Rory!"

She fidgeted a few moments longer before ceasing in movement and sighing, carefully wiping the tears from her eyes before staring at the canvas that had eaten her husband.

"Fine."

There was a brief blip of silence until it was interrupted by a familiar voice. "'sup with the screaming?"

Ginger kicked her feet in the doorway, hands jammed in her jean pockets as she squirmed in. Shortly behind her was the girl with the ponytail, and after a considerable moment's time, the one with the short hair and glasses peeped her head in. Amy reeled her head back, but the Doctor happily marched forward, sticking his hand out and bypassing the girl he already knew.

"allo, I'm the Doctor."

The ponytailed girl jerked her whole upper body back before slowly reaching her hand to shake his. "Uh – Terumi."

Then the Doctor leapt to the glasses girl, still grinning. "The Doctor, you?"

"Jiaqi," she said quietly, if a bit unsure of what was going on. She stared at her friends, who were giving her no help on how to deal with the man. He soon whirled around, spreading his arms out and looking towards Amy.

"Misses Pond, I introduce you to the rescuers of the Mister."

She turned her head away, eyebrows raised, dumbfounded by his words. "Wut, them, really? But…how?"

"What do you need?" Ginger asked, now hesitant on the situation she had been unconsulted about volunteering for.

"We need _you_," the Doctor replied, and, before Amy could speak, he answered. "We need _artists_."

"Why?"

"It's a painting, isn't it? We need people who can paint."

"I can paint!"

"No, not the way we need it. We need…realists. Not Impressionists. Somebody who can make things look real."

Before Amy could remark any further, Terumi cut in. "For what?"

"What kind of paint?" Ginger asked straight after. The Doctor looked between the two, raising a finger and opening his mouth but unable to answer, truthfully, either question.

"It'd be oil, right?" Jiaqi inquired, looking towards her friends.

"Well, we _are_ in the painting studio, so yeah, oil."

"Wonderful." The Doctor clapped his hands together. "So, get some paint, get some brushes, paint what we need, right? The rescue gets underway, and –"

"Wait, what do you mean _rescue_?" Terumi now had her hands on her hips, bottom lip protruding in question. "Who? From where?"

"Ah, well, that's easy. Simple, really. Absolutely…very simple."

"…Yes?"

Opening his mouth to inhale, the Doctor hesitated before throwing out, "A painting."

And while that received two groans, the bespectacled girl let out a small gasp. "Really?" she asked earnestly.

"Indeed!" Grabbing on to his one captive audience member, the Time Lord rushed forward to the smallest of the girls (who admittedly were all quite close in height) and led her gaze to the painting in the corner. "There is a man trapped inside that painting, and we need your skills to get him out."

Something should be said about artists, and students of it in particular. At their baseline, they tend to be open and believing of the world, ready to delve into its possibilities and behold its wonders. Nudge them too far, however, and they begin to doubt what they are being told and start to question what is truth and what is complete trash.

But like everything, there is a threshold. There comes a point when something comes along that is so totally and completely ludicrous that it somehow breaks that barrier, passes infinite, loops around, and returns to what is believable.

Credit had to be given to the mad man with the bowtie and his Scottish companion. They were both normal in their appearance, pardoning the fact that they were obscenely tall, and had nothing about them that suggested they were _bad_. They were just…weird.

Amy noticed the hesitation in their gazes, particularly from the mis-coordinated one and the ponytailed girl. It was a look she had seen a thousand times over, from even before she had gone on grand and mind-bending adventures with the Doctor. Even when she was younger, she had recognized "the look", that almost-believing-but-not-quite glance when people hesitated in trusting her words.

It was infuriating then, and it was still now.

"What's the harm in believing?" Amy spoke finally, taking a step forward. All gazes turned her way. "It'll cost you nothing, maybe five minutes of your time if we're wrong."

There was a mulling period of silence before Ginger sighed and pointed at the Doctor. "You want oil paint?"

"Absolutely."

She drew in her lips, staring hard and firm at him before turning her head and dashing out through the door she had entered in. Jiaqi and Terumi watched her exit before suddenly remembering they were in a large room with strange objects and stranger people.

"Where did she go to?" the Doctor wondered, leaning to see out the door further. "Surely there are supplies in here…?" He looked towards the two remaining students, who shrugged.

"Dunno," Jiaqi answered.

"Don't think so. She keeps her stuff in the locker we share." Terumi glanced at the clock on the wall before tapping her foot, seemingly an unrelated reflex.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you know? I mean – this is _your_ classroom and all…"

"What? No." Terumi shook her head. "She took oil painting, we took watercolor. Different room." She paused, wobbling her head back and forth before asking, "So uh…is it really true? That guy needs to be rescued…from a painting?"

"Of course it's true!" The Doctor was growing rather annoyed at both the slow rate of comprehension amongst the group and at the snail's pace progress was crawling along. "There's something wrong in this building, something _very_ wrong, and it's all massive and complicated and things that I don't even understand!" He spun halfway around one of the support poles of a nearby easel, eyes dark. "Usually these sort of things happen with _science_, with something _technological_, not – not artistically! It's too abstract, too uncertain, too – too – too _brilliant_!"

"That's one word for it, yeah."

The four in the room shot their eyes to the door where the voice had come from. Standing there was Ginger, holding a red bag heavily weighted down by its contents, but also with a short, petite, blonde-haired woman in front of her.

"Cindy?" Jiaqi asked, not out of question but surprise. "What are you…"

The woman jumped, glancing over in her direction. "Oh! Jiaqi! And Terumi! I do suppose you three run in a pack."

The Doctor took a step forward, but was instantly stopped by the pistol-whip glare he received from Cindy. "I didn't know back-up had been called in for this, Doctor."

He raised his eyebrows, but smiled cheekily, throwing his hands behind on his back. "I'm back-up now, am I? May I inquire to whom?"

"Me, of course." Her voice was suddenly sprightly as she approached him, forcibly grabbing one of his hidden hands and shaking it with both of hers. "Cynthia Hellyer-Heinz, foundations coordinator. Please call me Cindy, Doctor.

"How do you know who I am?" he whispered, bobbing his head down. She smiled, her motherly face displaying a labyrinth of secrets.

"It's hard not to hear of you when you're in UNIT."


	7. Muses and Oddities

An odd, heavy silence fell over the studio once the words were put into the air. The Doctor raised an eyebrow slowly, still keeping his cheeky smile, his eyes dancing into the mysterious woman's as she kept her friendly gaze steady.

"UNIT, you said?"

"Mmmhmm."

"What does UNIT have to do with something as small as this?"

Cindy cleared her throat, taking a step back from the Time Lord and putting on a more serious, though still cheerful, face.

"This isn't small, I'm afraid. And if we can figure out what it is, then it holds great interest for UNIT." She paused. "We also would like to get it before Torchwood does and exploits it for themselves."

The Doctor gave a hesitant nod, not out of agreeing with _her_ but agreeing with the circumstances. He looked over towards the corner with the canvas and bit his lip, recalling his life spent with the group and his countless other encounters with them. They weren't _bad_, and they were certainly more tolerable than Torchwood, but there was a reason he only begrudgingly worked with them.

"Uh – Cindy, what's…"

Suddenly remembering the students in the room, the instructor turned with a one-two snap of her heels and looked at the three, her expression mixed between concern and amusement.

"Oh, you three are here…." She sighed before smiling, shaking her head and proceeding to mumble to herself. "You won't forget, you won't be forced, you won't take no for an answer…" She then eyed the red bag held by Ginger and gave a start. "Those – are your paints, right?"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Doc'-"

"Oi, _Doctor_, blimey, doesn't anybody _listen_ –"

"- wanted them. His idea for a rescue."

Cindy turned back on her heel, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "A rescue? Is somebody…" Revelation seemed to dawn on her at that precise moment, her eyes snapping wide as she took another step forward and pointed towards the corner. "There's somebody _in there_, like, _right now_?"

"Ai, my husband," Amy snapped loudly. "And we were _going _to do the rescuing thing, but you folks just keep on _showing _up –"

"How were you expecting to do _that_?"

The redhead raised her chin defiantly. "Paint."

"A ladder," the Doctor tried to add helpfully. At the looks he received, he added, "Or a – a – a what, a rope made from bedsheets? Do you want to try that? I'd be well open to anything at this point –"

Cutting people off seemed to be popular at the moment. "Don't be _mad_," Ginger threw in, sticking her tongue out. "Concrete ideas are just really _awesome_ right now, okay? Geez."

There was just something so blindly infuriating with the people the Doctor was dealing with right now. Was it because they were Americans? Was that it? As far as he could tell, none of them were carrying guns, but looks weren't the most reliable of things. Taking in a deep breath, the Doctor closed his eyes, grimaced, and then swung his arms out.

"Go paint."

The three in the youngest tier of age looked at their professor, who nodded, and off they went to the corner. Amy took a moment to count her blessings at being taller and probably coming off as older than she was (but just a little bit, not enough to be called _old_) before noticing the Doctor had his forehead cradled in his palm.

"Nice of you to punt off the work," she teased in an attempt to loosen his jagged edges. He peered at her from between his fingers and sighed before turning to the UNIT member.

"How long have you been on this case?" the Doctor asked her quietly, leaning slightly to accommodate to her height.

She looked up at the ceiling, eyes glazed in thought. "The disappearances have been occurring for about a month, but the activity of something odd was picked up about three years ago."

The Doctor balked. "Three _years_? And it's only –"

"Only now that something is being done?" Cindy tsked. "Doctor, please. This university is 115 years old, this building approximately fifty. There are things happening all the time here. Residence halls have ghosts, there's a cousin of the Ood living in the lagoon, and the president of the school at this moment is a refugee from Salyute-7." She smiled. "And the very nature of our students lends to…._other_ things."

Taking the bait, the Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Like…?"

"You know what a muse is, right?"

He scoffed. "Of course. Considered by the Greeks to be the source of knowledge, points of inspiration for the arts – said to be nine goddesses, Plato, the old chap, called Sappho the tenth – lovely girl, talented with the word, thing is, she's actually from Sorgill, over in the Crab Nebula, and she wrote most of her things on parchment woven from threads of her own world, which deteriorated here on Earth –"

Cindy held up her hands to stop him. "Intriguing, thank you Doctor, but more to the point – most everyone who's here has their own, they have their own muse. They're created from one's imagination and guard over each artist."

The Doctor smiled, almost ready to roll his eyes. "Please –"

"VanGogh," Amy mumbled from the corner of her mouth. The Time Lord turned his attention to her. "He could see what we couldn't."

"…Point. Point, Pond."

"It's a matter of where they can manifest." Cindy gestured towards the three students, currently huddled around the canvas and pointing at which shade of brown to paint. "Our students are – well, they _tend_ to be – normal people. But get them together, in a hive of others who are like them, and it's when things change. It's sort of like…a psychic field. Once the student is comfortable, their muses become comfortable, and here, they appear frequently. We all have imaginations and creativity." She eyed the Doctor. "The difference is who has the ability to channel these ideas from the mind to the physical."

The Doctor and Amy stared at the woman with a mixture of intrigue and slight disbelief. "So what, it's like Pokémon?" the Scotswoman couldn't help but ask.

"Sounds a bit more like Digimon," the Doctor countered, pushing himself up on his toes.

Cindy shook her head, driving off a laugh but smiling. "So understand, Doctor, that when something _unusual _happens around here, it's hard to qualify. For us, the odd is the norm."

"Disappearances are normal?"

"_That's_ when it became a point of interest." She glanced over at the trio again, wherein Jiaqi was crouching and squinting, holding a paintbrush with tightened fingers as the other two encouraged her on. "I've been proposing the idea of the use of muses for years to UNIT. Seems only that when something _bad_ happens that they take interest."

"Well, that's how it tends to go," the Doctor sighed, falling back down to his heels. "Preventative measures no, dealing and cleaning up the mess, yes…"

"And done!"

Jiaqi raised her brush in cautious triumph to Ginger's words. She looked at the painting and shrugged, bobbing her head in a way to say 'not bad, considering I'm not getting a grade for it'. Terumi waved her hand to beckon the other three towards the canvas.

Upon arrival, the Doctor stuck his thumb out, squinting an eye so as to appear to be focusing. At the bottom of the painting was a stripe of brown, with alternating stripes of light and dark narrowing to a point next to a tree. They read quite easily as stairs, crude but somehow refined – enough to hopefully give Rory the hint.

"Good, excellent work," he said with a clap of his hands and one to Jiaqi's shoulder. She grunted at the impact but otherwise remained mute, nodding at his words instead. "And now…we sit and wait."

He hated those words. The worst part was that he had said them completely of his own free will.

* * *

If there was one thing Rory hadn't been counting on, it was the musical taste of his "ally" in the canvassed world. Geoffrey had been humming a tune the Brit recognized, and soon they found themselves discussing and swapping band names. Low-fi experimental rock music was hard to talk about with other people less they knew what in the world he was referring to. Bit too underground for the general populace.

"Yeah, they're pretty groovy, just breaking out the Chicago scene now," Geoffrey spoke to the sky, still drained and unwilling to move. "Met the drummer at a gallery opening once, pretty chill dude."

"Oh wow," Rory murmured, his jealousy flaring at people who lived in or near big cities. "You ever –_ wot_ is that…"

Beyond the grass, beyond the scratches of color, stretching out over the abyss of white, a set of brown streaks were weaving their way towards him. They appeared to be descending from some point he couldn't make out – it looked far away, but like everything in this world, his eyes screwed up and it was difficult to give a solid meaning to anything.

Rory scuttled out of the way as the streaks came to a stop a few feet away from the tree he had rolled into previously. He stood there, staring at them for a moment, before looking back at Geoffrey.

"This?" he asked, pointing at the brown. The man groaned, sitting up and adjusting his glasses while looking skeptically from the nurse to the brown. He nearly gave himself whiplash from the move his head performed.

"I think someone knows we're here." He paused, glancing at Rory. "Your redheaded giraffe?"

Rory was about to argue that the adjective did not describe the noun, but then realized the words created an appropriate nominal phrase. "It's possible," he said instead.

"So what are you gonna do? Climb 'em?"

"I dunno, seems like a good idea." He paused. "And you're coming with me."

Geoffrey sighed, rolling his eyes. "You sure you want to drag me along?"

He hesitated. "I'm…I'm not going to _leave_ you here."

"Yeah, yeah you are." He flopped back to the ground. "Listen up, limey – I'm fine. You're the one who's not supposed to be here. Pretty sure harpy-lady would starve if she tried her magic on you."

"…Starve? Why? I'm not _that_ stringy –"

"Ya mean yew haven't figured it out?" From the silence that proceeded that sentence, the answer was an obvious 'no, now please explain'. "That thing doesn't kill_ you,_ it takes away the thing artists need."

Rory had several words running in his mind. Paint? Pencils? Supplies in general? Money? …Nude models willing to pose in exchange for pizza and beer?

"Their muse. It eats your creativity."

Having only known the man for about an hour, Rory complimented himself quietly on being able to recognize a profound sense of loss in his words. His expression didn't show it all that much, but the tone of his voice certainly had changed. "And everyone who's ever been sucked into this stupid thing has come out of it with a loss in their abilities." Geoffrey looked at his hands, flexing his fingers, before shooting his gaze back to the other man. "So it doesn't matter if I go with you or not. That harpy's not gonna kill _me_. I think she wants to kill _you_, 'cause you're not helping her."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Rory muttered to himself.

"It just wants the part of me that makes me employed to be dead."

Sighing, the nurse tapped his foot before looking from the stairs to the professor, guilt creeping into him from his words: "Fine, I'll go. I'll go – and get help."

"That'd be nice," Geoffrey replied on a breath, settling further into the grass. "Or – don't get help. It doesn't matter. Catch you in a bit, though."

Rory turned to the steps, setting a cautious foot on the first one, followed by his next on its next. They didn't even creak, just gave him a secured state of grounding. Starting off slow, he soon gained speed, before finding himself racing up the steps, staring straight ahead so as to not look at the canvas below.

He did, just once, because his curiosity wanted him to see his encouragement. There was no sense of green, no indication of ground. In fact, there was no sense of space, and that might've been the most terrifying thing of all.


End file.
